


Touch my soul, touch my heart (but don't you tear us apart)

by Diadem (pastelstarsandacid)



Series: Whatever our souls are made of [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst and Humor, Daemon Separation, Daemon Touching, Daemons laugh at your pain, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, does that even make sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelstarsandacid/pseuds/Diadem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It's an intimate act, to allow someone other than yourself to place their hands on your soul, with the confidence they will only hold and not break it; will touch but not tear and destroy.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch my soul, touch my heart (but don't you tear us apart)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I said I might continue the Daemon AU. Well, confession time: I didn't really want to. But the Daemon AU kidnapped me, took me hostage and forced me to write anyway ~~it was hella scary I'm telling you~~
> 
> This fic doesn't really work as a stand-alone. Like, it might? ?? But not really. You should probably read Part 1 first if you haven't already, then, if you still want to, read this one.
> 
> My ideas were all over the place in this one, so I really don't know how it'll all turn out. Enjoy I guess?? ? Idk

The first time he touches her is a mistake.

The acrid tang of alchemy laces the air, though the eerie blue light has faded, leaving only a few scorch marks that betray its ever having been present. Roy releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, and Avakhala growls, teeth bared and hackles raised as they stare at the space where Ed disappeared.

A scream shatters the silence. It's a terrifying, unearthly sound, a wail fit to wake the dead; Roy's skin crawls and erupts in gooseflesh as he twists on the spot, trying to locate the source of such a dreadful cry, but afraid of what he'll find when he does.

Marljivost howls as she paces the floor where Ed vanished, torn apart by merciless hands. 

"No." she moans. "Please, not again, anything but this-" She breaks off abruptly with another raw, agonised yowl, and Roy doesn't think, just sees an animal in distress and reaches out-

He is familiar with fire, with the soreness of careless burns and the constant ache of the flames, coursing beneath his skin. But this is so much more than that- the heat is blistering, tearing him apart from the inside out, as his fingers sink into soft fur that is so oddly, impossibly familiar. He doesn't let go; clutches tighter instead, holding a soul that is not his own, burning brightly in his cold, bloodless hands.

Marljivost shudders beneath his touch, but doesn't recoil; her claws dig into his flesh as a hated whimper bursts from her throat.

"Never, never, never." she sobs, as if the denial will somehow bring her human back.

_Never touch a daemon that is not your own_. It's an unspoken rule that needs not be taught- from their very earliest years until the twilight of their lives, every sane man knows better than to break such a taboo. There are exceptions, of course- close friends, lovers and the like may openly defy this forbidden act, but to touch another's daemon without permission- there is no greater disgrace.

Roy's legs shake as he stands, turning to face the others. They stare at him, eyes wide with- shock? Fear? Hatred? 

The full enormity of his actions doesn't seem to have sunk in yet for them, either.

He inhales slowly, almost gagging on the foul odour that permeates the air.

"What just happened does not leave this room." he instructs them with such icy brevity that even Scar's daemon, a hulking, nameless thing with seemingly no sense of fear, balks nervously. "We will never discuss it again."

"Sir-" Riza protests, but trails off when Cioscian shakes his head. Avakhala snaps viciously, gripping his coat with far more force than necessary, tearing fur and drawing blood from them both. A low, ominous rumble echoes in her chest.

"We will _never_ speak of it again." he repeats, and they both flinch visibly, the unshakable Lieutenant and her daemon; hurt and confusion flicker across their features like wavering candlelight, quickly extinguished in the wind. "No matter what happens, you will remain forever silent on the matter. Do you understand?" His voice is too hard, too flat and emotionless. Marljivost cringes fearfully, burrowing deeper into the folds of his coat while making hoarse, pitiful cries. She is pathetic, broken, tears welling in her eyes as she tries to hide herself away from prying eyes, to escape into the shadows and suffer her shame alone. 

"You'll regret this." Avakhala warns him, as he attempts to calm the now small, kitten-shaped daemon with gentle strokes, smoothing her damp fur and slowing the rapid thrumming of her heart. Roy does not reply.

( _He already does._ )

***

Falling in love with his subordinate had not been part of Roy's plans. Unfortunately, Avakhala seemed to have set her heart on it from the very beginning.

He should have expected it, really. How many times did he look at Ed in those months, and marvel at the enigma that stood before him? 

It just didn't make sense. Five years ago, Ed was nothing but extremes; a small, angry brat with the nerve to defy the universe. Five years later, and Roy would while away the hours trying to work out when exactly Edward Elric got so damn _pretty_.

It wasn't an entirely new concept. He'd always found Ed _pretty_ \- with his unusual amber eyes and warm blonde hair, he'd stood out from the very beginning, an inferno in the darkness of his world; a blazing pillar of majestic energy, white-hot and feral; a beautiful complication in his perfect system of order, discipline and command. He was too bold, too in-your-face, full of anger and frustration and childish impulsion. He wasn't just a flame, but a _fire_ , impossible to ignore or control. And Roy, well- he'd always had a way with flames.

Now, though, he'd grown up into this baffling creature of ivory and gold, so inexplicably gorgeous that it almost seemed unfair. Roy would try to tell himself that it was wrong, that he couldn't, that his desires were perverse and unattainable, but he was lying through his teeth, and he knew it. Besides, he wasn't the only one to notice Ed's rapid maturation into- well, whatever exactly now sits in his office, glaring at a thick sheaf of papers as if they're entirely to blame for every awful moment in his life. Ed attracted appreciative glances in practically every room he entered, and they'd only grown increasingly bold as it became apparent that the only person unaware of this fact was Ed himself. Even Marljivost seemed to have realised that her human was being watched- she'd ruffle her feathers nervously when a stare was allowed to continue for a moment too long, and had even been known to physically assault those who attempted to invade their personal space. 

So it was inevitable in the end, really, that Roy, admittedly with much pressure from his insufferable feline companion, had finally worked up the nerve to ask him on a date.

He hadn't expected it to last. Ed was young, full of life and boundless energy- and that energy needed an outlet. Roy couldn't hope to satisfy him forever. But one date had turned into a second, then a third, and now- well, tomorrow will be their three-month anniversary. It's not much, but it's longer than any of Roy's previous relationships, so he'll chalk this one up as an accomplishment.

He's just finishing his last batch of paperwork, signing each one off with a self-satisfied flourish, when something warm and heavy settles on his thigh. His hand moves instinctively, fingers carding through soft fur absentmindedly as he dips his pen to the paper once more. It's only when he looks down to check for ink spots on his clothes that he realises the daemon purring beneath his touch is in fact not Avakhala, but Marljivost.

The tigress stares at him unblinkingly with smouldering yellow eyes, and he quickly looks away, jerking his hand back as if burned. Ed, however, doesn't even react, just slowly raises his head in silent regard, then lowers it again, returning to the thick manuscript in front of him. 

Roy coughs awkwardly. "I'm sorry-"

"Just don't let her sit on your lap." Ed almost smiles, and his eyes sparkle with quiet amusement. "She's fuckin' heavy, and you'll never get her off again if you do."

"Noted." Roy cannot suppress the grin that spreads across his face as Marljivost nudges his hand, now as a scruffy white dog, but with the same piercing yellow gaze. Avakhala, disgruntled by the lack of attention directed at herself, rumbles warningly from her perch on Roy's bookshelf, before springing onto the windowsill and draping herself across Ed in retaliation. 

It's an odd feeling, the brush of another's skin against your soul; a delicate, ghostly caress, like snow falling on soft clay. But not unpleasant, Roy thinks, as he rubs small circles behind Marljivost's ears, all the while watching as Avakhala arches against Ed, humming cheerfully as he runs a crooked finger along her spine. She shoots him a smug sideways glance, and he grins back. 

No, not unpleasant at all. 

***

Touching someone's daemon is not something you just become accustomed to. And why should it? Placing your soul in another's hands is hardly a mundane act, after all. There is an element of trust that comes with such a gesture, and Roy can understand that- it's an intimate act, to allow someone other than yourself to place their hands on your soul, with the confidence they will only hold and not break it; will touch but not tear and destroy.

Ed doesn't trust easily. He's unaccustomed to kind words and honest intentions; every movement is punctuated by a blow, a kick, a harsh word of command, in his mind. He's never really known what it is to be safe, to not have to hold yourself tense, alert, watchful, always prepared for a fight. And perhaps it's good, that he's developed a sense of self-preservation, that he understands the world is cold and cruel, but-

-but it isn't, and never could be, it's only sick and wrong that he had to grow up so fast; had to harden like the steel that makes up his shattered limbs, and cut his heart out of his chest to stop it bleeding into his skin.

Roy wishes he could say he realised this sooner, but the fact is, he almost works it out too late.

The first time, Roy tries to take it slow. He knows, from the very beginning, that handling Ed will not be something easy, will not be something he can burn his way through like he does so many of the obstacles that stand in his way. Because Ed isn't an obstacle, but he seems to think he is, and Roy is determined to change that.

Ed tips back his head and groans as Roy trails feverish, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, pausing to nip at his collarbones; his hair falls loose, like molten gold pooled around his shoulders, glowing faintly in the dim light like the dust motes that swirl, alive, in Avakhala's fur. He's trying, trying to be what he _thinks_ Roy wants, pliant and responsive to his every movement, but Roy can feel the tension that lies beneath, white-hot and coiled and afraid; can feel the way he flinches slightly as he presses his lips gently to his skin, tracing every bruise and scar with reverent care. He is trapped, like a butterfly pinned between panes of glass, wings straining madly to escape their icy prison, and it makes Roy feel sick to his stomach that Edward Elric, having seen so many horrors before his due time, and come through them all brighter and more defiant than ever, can be frightened by a simple caress, or a feather-light touch.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Marljivost is the same; skittish as she flickers from form to form, unable to remain at rest but changing, constantly fluid, like water flowing over rocks. There is fierce determination in both their eyes, but beneath all that false bravado is only fear and apprehension; a sense of resignation to one's fate. 

"Ed." It feels so _wrong_ , so unfair to pull back, but Roy knows it would be so much worse to continue. The angry fire in Ed's eyes flickers and dies, before being replaced by a sort of hurt confusion; he looks at Roy and he's searching for a sign of disgust, of rejection, and that's even _worse_. "Edward, love." Roy lifts a hand and tenderly places it against Ed's cheek. "Do you trust me?"

Ed blinks hard and steps back, clearly perplexed as he mulls over this question. He hunches his shoulders, and, in typical Ed fashion, replies "The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

( _If Roy had enough of a heart left to break, it would do so now._ )

"It means," he begins, weighing each word carefully in his mind, tasting it on his tongue before he allows it to fall free from his lips "that I don't want you to do anything you are uncomfortable with, simply because you believe I expect it of you." And Ed inhales sharply, as if this was _unexpected_ , and the bloody shreds of what's left in Roy's hollow chest shrivel and burn to a crisp.

"So I'll ask again." he continues, feeling oddly detached as he meets Ed's fiery gaze, but pouring his entire being into the next handful of words. "Do you trust me?"

Ed doesn't move, doesn't react, simply stands, tilting slightly as if he's trying not to fall, but Marljivost- shaking at the edges, tensed as if she's trying so very hard to hold herself together- shudders and reaches to meet his outstretched hand.

This time there is no blazing fire, no blistering heat as they connect, only dust bursting beneath his fingers as she relaxes into his touch. Ed gasps faintly, a choked, surprised sound, but it's not a protestation.

"We trust you." she murmurs, but there's something unforgiving in that unblinking stare; in those hard, amber eyes. There's a challenge, a threat, and it whispers _Please, do not break us._

Roy nods solemnly even as Ed returns to meet him once more, a little more bold and insistent this time, and as they fall back; as Ed's hands wrap loosely around strands of Roy's hair and he arches against him, a breathy moan falling from his lips, Roy hears Avakhala whisper, so softly that he almost misses it.

_"We won't."_

***

Touching another person's daemon, Roy soon learns, can be more than just an act of intimacy, or a gesture of fond affection. There is something _safe_ in such an act; a strange sense of security when all else seems dangerous, precariously balanced on a razor edge, splintering beneath his feet. 

There are good nights, and these he takes gratefully, making the most of each reprieve. But there are also the bad, nights full of the stench of charred flesh and the screams of a doomed race deemed too much effort to maintain. They haunt his dreams, skulking at the very edges of his consciousness, until he can't help but force his eyes to remain open, and stubbornly refuse the creeping tendrils of shadow that come with sleep. 

There is tiredness in his bones; weighing down on his heavy eyes and slicing weary lines into his skin, but he welcomes the pain- he's earned it, for all he has done. 

Avakhala growls unhappily, before thumping her head against her paws with an exhausted huff, as he gently pries Ed's arm from where it's wrapped around his waist, slipping from beneath the covers as he silently crosses the room.

A thin stream of cold seeps through the window, but it's refreshingly cool, banishing any lingering memories of smoke and flame; he leans against the stone with bare arms, heedless of how quickly it leeches the warmth from his skin. The night is sharp and clear, like crystal-cut glass; the sky above inky black and glowing faintly from the light of a scattering of stars. Roy can only appreciate its beauty, despite the ugly thoughts that weather against the defences of his carefully guarded mind.

Something warm brushes against him, and he looks down to find Marljivost, perched on the edge of the windowsill, watching him steadily. He holds her stare for a moment, before turning his gaze back to the glittering heavens. 

"Can't you sleep?" the daemon asks him, curiosity evident in her voice.

"No." he shakes his head. There is a pause, then

"Thankyou."

"For what?" Marljivost tilts her head, puzzled.

"For not asking why." 

She considers him for a moment longer, narrowing her eyes in scrutiny, then, having seemingly come to a conclusion, leaps into the gap formed by his arms, purring softly. 

Roy stiffens, surprised. Avakhala glares at the younger daemon, a warning noise rising in her chest, before seeming to accept her actions as devoid of any evil intent, and subsiding back into a doze. Ed scowls in his sleep, but doesn't wake.

She's a siamese cat, Avakhala's favourite form from their childhood. Roy's not sure if Marljivost knows this, or if it's just a bizarre coincidence, but it's oddly comforting, and he allows her to settle in his arms without comment.

"You drool in your sleep." she snickers when Roy chokes slightly. "It's disgusting." 

"As if you can talk. Your human snores."

She opens her mouth to retort, but before she can so much as utter another syllable, they're interrupted by a sleepy groan behind them.

Ed blinks owlishly, squinting at the light that streams through the open window. Porcelain skin ripples faintly under the pale luminescence of the stars, and, with his hair a bird's nest atop his head, and his shirt rumpled and askew over one collarbone, buttoned up entirely wrong, so that the two top loops are left without a catch, he is a _vision_.

"What're you talkin' about?" he mumbles thickly, and there's a sharp edge of suspicion to his tone.

Marljivost springs from Roy's arms, shifting into a sparrow as she flutters over to his side, and coming to rest on his shoulder as he struggles to sit up. "Nothing much." she trills smugly, burying her face into his neck. Ed doesn't seem convinced.

Roy watches as he snags his coat from where it's lying on the floor and swings it over his shoulders, shivering slightly as he walks over to join him. He's swamped in the thing, lost in a sea of royal blue and gold and silver accents, mismatched legs peeking out from beneath the hem, and Roy's heart does a stupid little dance in his chest. 

Marljivost settles between them, a scrap of warmth that seems to spread through Roy's entire body, thawing his numb, icy skin. 

"We fell in love with an idiot." she informs Ed, after a moment.

"Well, it takes one to know one." Roy smirks, unable to resist the jab. 

Cold hands pinch his thigh in retaliation, and razor claws dig into his flesh, but there's a smile tugging at the corners of Ed's mouth, and the curl in Marljivost's lip tells him he's forgiven. 

Avakhala snorts.

"You bloody fools." she says, shaking her head scornfully, and Roy can only agree with her.

***

It's become somewhat of a talking point among the other daemons in the office, this alteration in the relationship- if that word can even define whatever's going on between those two- between the General and the Fullmetal Alchemist. 

Jean doesn't care, of course. It's really none of his business, and they'd all do well to just keep their heads down and stay out of it, like the loyal soldiers they are.

"Except you don't really believe that." Sifalri says, smirking at him. Jean shakes his head and touches a finger to his lips, and she settles back beneath his chair with a disgruntled huff.

It isn't that weird, is it? Okay, sure, so the only people who touch eachother's daemons are close friends or family or, well, _lovers_ , but-

"It's not weird." Jean tells himself, as if saying out loud will somehow convince him. Sifalri snorts contemptuously.

"It is, too." she argues, for the sake of arguing more than anything.

"Are you really going to open up that can of worms again, Sifalri? Because if you are, then by all means _involve me_." Iskren grins as she sidles over to the dog-daemon, snout twitching with obvious amusement. 

"Oh, for god's sake, be _quiet_." Jean hisses at the two daemons. "Do you want _her_ to hear you?" 

He almost laughs at how they visibly shiver, Sifalri burying her head beneath her paws and _whimpering_ in fear. 

Of course, by _her_ , Jean means Marljivost. Riza's Cioscian is stern and intimidating, with his yellow eyes that seem to look _through_ you rather than at you, peeling away your layers to expose your innermost secrets, and Roy's Avakhala is monstrous when provoked, but Marljivost- there's something truly unsettling about that daemon. She's disconcerting enough, with her ability to change shape long after she should have settled, but pair that with a temper forged in the flames of hell itself- which is, incidentally, where she probably came from, Jean thinks bitterly- and you have something positively _unholy_ on your hands. 

Even in her most docile forms, there's something feral about her that automatically warns you not to let your guard down, lest you find those needle teeth inches from your throat. Marljivost's fear factor is almost entirely due to her unpredictability. Mostly, she's quiet and almost unnaturally calm, so different from her human counterpart with her soft voice and polite, formal demeanor. But when her fury is ignited, it's uncontrollable, a blistering rage that few can hope to withstand. And, worst of all, she seems to have an almost supernatural talent for being just in the right place, at the right time, to hear or see something that will set her off. 

Jean takes another glance at the daemon, curled oh-so-innocently around her Ed's shoulders as he orders another round of drinks from the bar, and shudders inwardly.

"You're right." Sifalri slumps her shoulders in a dejected manner. "I'll bet you the moment we lose focus, she'll strut over like she owns the place and slaughter us all. We'll end up like Rita, or worse."

Iskren sniggers.

"Oh, ha _bloody_ ha." Rita snaps acerbically. She puffs up her chest, clearly trying to make herself look intimidating, but she's a platypus- she ends up looking more like a ball with webbed feet. "I don't recall you laughing when she got all up in _your_ business."

"Perhaps not, but I didn't get stepped on, unlike someone." Iskren giggles. "Besides-"

"It's _not funny_!" Rita blazes, rearing on her hind legs and waving pint-sized flippers angrily. It's so comical, Jean can't resist chuckling at the sight. "One day, I swear-"

"You're going to have your long-overdue vengeance, we _know_." Sifalri rolls her eyes.

Rita scowls. "Oh, to hell with it all." she growls. "Let's just go ahead and talk about it. We can't keep dancing around it forever, and if _she_ walks in on us, well, perhaps we can ask _her_ opinion on the matter. That'd be something interesting, I'd wager."

Jean shakes his head. "We are _not_ having this conversation. Not here. It's inappropriate." 

"Which is what makes it so _fun_!" Sifalri beams. "Don't be a party pooper, Jean." she pouts slightly, and Jean shares a weary look with his comrades. Well, at the very least they can ensure their daemons don't get themselves killed.

"I don't get what fascinates you so much about it." Breda says. "The chief and the boss went through a lot together. It makes sense they'd be closer than most."

"Oh, please." Iskren makes a disparaging noise, shaking her head at her human with clear disdain. "The Promised Day was over a year ago- this started _last month_. Besides, the General and Lieutenant Hawkeye have been through a lot together too, but I never see him touch Cioscian."

"That's just 'cause Cioscian's so vain he won't even let his own human touch him, in case she ruins his pretty feathers." Rita retorts. Fuery makes a 'shush'ing noise, pointing at the hawk-daemon dozing on Riza's shoulder, and she lowers her voice slightly. Riza, thankfully, is in the middle of a rather animated conversation with Rebecca, and pays them no mind.

"I have to say I agree with Rita." Fuery begins.

"Well of course you do, she's _your daemon_ -"

Fuery flushes, fiddling nervously with the rim of his half-empty glass. "Stop kidding yourselves. You saw Colonel Roberts' face when he walked out of there- there's no way the boss was just doing 'research'. And they haven't had a proper argument in months. Something's definitely going on."

"Oh, I forgot Colonel Roberts." Sifalri sighs fondly at the memory. "Now that _was_ a sight to behold."

"He was _shaking_ when he walked out." Iskren crows. "His daemon practically had to carry him."

"Wait." Fuery interrupts them suddenly, as if a thought just occurred to him. "You don't think that they were-?"

"That they were _what_ , Kain?" Jean asks dryly. Fuery flushes again, bright red this time. 

"Give the poor guy some credit." Breda snorts. "Roberts is nearly sixty, I doubt his heart would take seeing something like _that_. And we definitely would've heard something. Those doors aren't thick."

"There's always after-hours." Sifalri mutters darkly. Jean glares at her.

"We're losing sight of the main issue here." Rita reminds them. "The fact is, we know there's _something_ going on with those two, we just have to work out _what_ exactly-"

She breaks off suddenly, darting into Fuery's outstretched hands and burrowing into his jacket. Sifalri presses closer to Jean, and Iskren snuffles anxiously. 

"Another glass, anyone?" Ed asks, smiling in the cheerful, lazy manner of one who's had a little too much to drink. Marljivost follows him as a doe, occasionally stumbling as she makes her way through the maze of chairs and tables. She also appears to be a little tipsy, but not quite as intoxicated as her human partner.

"Um, thanks. Did you have a good day?" Jean says, in an attempt to break the awkward silence that has descended. Two pairs of eyes flick up to look at him.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, it was alright." Ed replies. "That Alkahestry shit isn't easy to get your head around, though. Western Alchemy's a bloody piss-take compared to it. Spent all afternoon reading the same fuckin' paragraph, and we didn't understand a thing."

"I understood it." Marljivost protests. "You're just stupid." But the manner with which she nips his ear is an affectionate one. 

"That's _all_ you did, then?" Sifalri smirks. "Just research?" 

Ed hesitates for a moment, and Jean's pretty sure he spies a hint of colour, two high spots on his cheekbones. "Well, yeah." he says defensively. "I dunno what else you'd expect-"

"Enjoy your drinks." Marljivost cuts him off icily. "Let's go." Ed seems happy enough to do just that, but she lingers for a moment, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she surveys the scene, and she snorts as if she can _smell_ the guilty fear hanging in the air. After a moment, though, she just shrugs her shoulders noncommittally and wanders off to join her human.

Jean releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, before turning to give Sifalri a withering look.

"What." he spits through clenched teeth. "The hell. Was. That?"

"I was so close!" she complains. "If it hadn't been for Marljivost, I definitely could've got something out of him!" 

"For god's sake, this whole thing is stupid!" Fuery yells, surprising them all as he slams his glass down onto the table. "Why don't we just drop it? It's not like we don't have better things to do."

"Exactly." Jean agrees.

"I second that." Breda chimes in, sounding relieved.

"You're all rubbish." Sifalri whines, and Iskren nods gloomily in agreement. "Absolutely-"

Whatever she says next, however, is drowned out as Rita, having finally deemed it safe enough to crawl out of Fuery's coat and into civilization once more, erupts into the most hysterical laughter Jean has ever heard.

"What-" he begins. Rita gasps, shaking so hard she can barely stand. 

"Looks like you'll get your fun after all, Sif." she giggles at the dog-daemon. " _Look_."

"Oh my god." Iskren murmurs. Sifalri looks triumphant.

Jean follows their gaze warily, unsure as to whether he'll like what he sees. When he finally makes sense of the strange scene before him, he almost chokes on his beer. 

Marljivost is sitting in Roy's lap as a siamese cat, looking more content than Jean has ever seen her. And not only that, but she's _purring_ , humming contentedy as she arches into his touch. It also doesn't escape his notice the way Roy's hand is loosely curved around Ed's waist in a more-than-just-friendly manner, and the giddy, almost mellow look on Ed's face as he grazes the tips of Avkhala's ears with an idle hand. 

" _Yes_." Sifalri breathes. "Finally, _finally_ , something I can hold over Marljivost's head! Do you know how long I've waited for this moment?"

"She's going to be _so_ hungover tomorrow as well." Rita grins. "She probably won't even be able to walk in a straight line."

"Even better." Sifalri says with savage fervor. "I can tell the little mistress how she sat in the General's lap like a pet-in _public_ , nonetheless-and she won't have the strength to stop me." 

"I really don't think that'll be necessary, Sif." Jean protests.

"Come _on_." Sifalri whines. "The General's always teasing us about not being able to keep a girlfriend, and now we can make him pay for it. Surely that's something in it for you."

Jean considers this for a moment. "Well..." 

"She's got a point." Breda says, and Fuery nods in agreement.

"Fine." Jean sighs. "But I swear, if we end up transmuted into our own chairs, I'll never forgive you." He looks warningly at the dog-daemon wagging her tail at his feet.

"Tomorrow is going to be _amazing_." Sifalri says, as if she just found out Christmas is coming early. 

Jean closes his eyes.

***

Marljivost keeps tripping. Ed thinks it's hilarious.

"Slow _down_." she whines, and there's a crashing noise as she stumbles into another chair. Ed ignores her, paralysed with laughter as he watches her struggle to stand, skidding across the tiled floor like a child on ice skates.

"You're so mean." she complains.

"You're so drunk." he retorts.

"You're both drunk." Avakhala chastises them. "Sit down, before you fall."

They obey somewhat reluctantly, and Ed grimaces as he sips his drink. It tastes like water. When did it start tasting like water? 

"After our seventh glass." Marljivost informs him helpfully. She's having some difficulty in reaching the chair- every time she tries to leap up, she falls over instead. 

It's not even that funny, but Ed laughs anyway. Marljivost shoots him a reproachful look.

"You could _help_." she mutters miserably, before resigning herself to the fact that she's stuck on the floor. She looks so utterly depressed that he almost feels sorry for her.

"Humans are cruel." Avakhala observes.

"They are." Marljivost agrees (Ed almost spits out his drink; Marljivost _never_ agrees with Avakhala). "Those three over there are plotting how best to humiliate us. Oh, how nice it would be to just rip out their-"

"Plotting to massacre my team? They _can_ be a nuisance at times, but that's a little harsh, don't you think?" Roy sounds far too sober as he saunters over, but the haphazard manner in which he sits, leaning so heavily to one side that Ed's sure he's going to tip, betrays his inebriation.

"They were talking about us." Marljivost complains. "I heard them. It was all very crude, as well." She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

"I'm sorry, that was terribly rude of them." Roy apologises, lips pressed tightly together to hide a smile. "But I'm still unconvinced that their actions warrant the death penalty."

"I thought you'd say that." Marljivost sighs despondently. "I guess I'll just have to do it my-"

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that." Roy scoops her off the ground as she makes to leave, and she hisses indignantly. "I rather like my team, and I'd hate to have to find a new one. They're so much effort to train."

"You can keep Hawkeye." Marljivost offers, still squirming furiously in his grip. Roy just shakes his head, and runs a hand gently along her spine; she continues to struggle for a moment, then seems to relax, curling up loosely on his lap.

"You look stunning tonight, darling. Has anyone told you how lovely you are when you smile?" Roy reaches over to tuck a strand of Ed's hair behind his ear, and he realises he's adressing _him_ now. He stares at him in horror.

" _You_." He's not sure why he puts so much emphasis on the word, but it seems to be the right course of action, so he doesn't question it. "You did _not_ just call me 'darling'."

"I'm afraid I did." Roy smirks, curving a hand loosely around his waist and pulling Ed closer, so he's pinned to his side. "What do you intend to do about it?"

Ed scowls. "If you don't shut your smug asshole mouth-" he tries to come up with a suitably unpleasant solution, but his intoxicated brain fails him. "You _bastard_." he snarls. "You fuckin' planned this."

"You give me far more credit than I deserve, love." Roy grins as Ed's scowl deepens. "I was simply overcome by how utterly _exquisite_ you looked when you-"

"Alright, that's enough." Avakhala groans. "Make him _stop_." She looks at Ed pleadingly, and he shrugs as if to say _what do you expect me to do?_ , because once Roy gets started with his goddamned _sap_ , there is nothing that can persuade him to shut up. Except-

Ed's not even sure what happens next. All he remembers is swinging a leg so he's straddling Roy's lap, knocking an idignant Marljivost to the floor in the process, and kissing him, hard. Everything else fades to white noise after that.

When he finally breaks off, Roy's eyes are glassy and unfocused, and he's breathing heavily. He shakes his head in a dazed fashion and licks his lips, a movement Ed follows with great interest.

"Ed, dear." he eventually manages. "Love of my life-"

"Shut up." Ed says flatly.

"-and reason for my being." Roy continues, steadfastly ignoring him. "While I very much appreciate the benefits of this position-"

"Yes?" Ed demands, growing confused and somewhat frustrated by his lack of reaction.

"Edward." Roy says, sounding annoyingly serious. "Your automail is digging into my leg."

"Oh." Ed shifts the offending limb a little to the right. "Better?"

"Much." Roy smiles crookedly. "Now, if you don't mind, I believe we were in the middle of something-?"

Ed grins. "S'funny." he says, tilting his head to one side in mock-confusion (and imediately regretting it when the rest of the world tilts with it). "I can't quite remember."

"Really?" Roy smirks. "Well, perhaps _this_ will jog your memory."

And then Roy's tugging him closer, one hand drifting to the small of his back, grazing his spine through the fringes of his shirt, while the other cards lazy circles into Marljivost's fur. A curlicue of gold flickers between his fingertips, and Ed closes the last few inches between them, just as Avakhala brushes his thigh.

Something like a spark stirs inside him, and Ed decides he doesn't care if they get kicked out of the bar for this. Instead he deepens the kiss and closes his eyes, as the gold dust swirls between them, and another soul embraces his own.

***

Fuery makes a gagging noise, and they all turn to face him. "Oh god." he moans. "Don't look."

"Don't look at what?" Jean snaps. Then he looks, and wishes he hadn't.

Seemingly emboldened by the liberal amounts of alcohol he's consumed over the evening, Ed has taken it upon himself to climb onto Roy's lap, and the two are now engaged in an increasingly passionate kiss. Judging by the expressions on both their faces, and the practiced ease of their actions, this isn't the first time they've done it, either.

"Ah." Jean swallows, quickly looking away. "Well." _I guess that clears things up on_ that _matter_.

"This just keeps getting better and better." Sifalri whispers gleefully to Iskren, and Jean has to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands. Fuery doesn't even bother- he just slumps across the table, shaking his head and muttering incoherently. Jean tries to make sense of it, but the only two words he can decipher are 'kill' and 'me', so he gives it up.

"Who's driving tonight?" he asks Breda.

"Riza." Iskren answers for him. "Did you really need to ask?"

"No, not really." Jean says hurriedly. "Now, how long do you think we have until those two-" he jerks his thumb behind him "-are kicked out of the bar?"

"Ten minutes?" Rita guesses, before turning to glance back again. "Scratch that, ten minutes just became five." 

"Right." Jean breathes heavily, pinching his nose with one hand while lighting a cigarette with the other. "Gentlemen, I suggest we use these next five minutes to get as drunk as humanly possible. Any objections?"

"No." Breda looks horrified at the prospect.

"No." Fuery whimpers, still with his head buried in his forearms. "But may I ask why?"

"At least one of us is going to be sharing a car with those two." Jean says grimly. "I'd like to be prepared." 

Fuery's up like a shot. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he yelps, dashing to the bar, Rita waddling feverishly after him to catch up.

Jean glances at Breda. He looks faintly ill.

"I'm going to make Marljivost _cry_." Sifalri sighs happily. Fuery passes Jean a tumbler with trembling hands, and he downs it in one swallow.

It's going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a few people raise concerns about the fact that the daemons in my AU are very different from their human counterparts. For example, Roy is a shrewd mastermind and a charmer, while Avakhala is blunt and outspoken; Ed is violent and impulsive, while Marljivost is (mostly) sensible and extremely polite and formal; Fuery is kind and idealistic, but Rita is bitter and sarcastic. My reasons for this are because I personally believe that daemons are not meant to be exact mirrors of their human partners, but balancing forces- in HDM, Lyra is very impulsive and childish, while Pantalaimon is more sensible and timid, though they are both loyal and brave. My daemons are the same- they're not perfect copies, but honest representations of people's less-flattering qualities as well as their best. 
> 
> Daemon name origins! (+species this time):
> 
> Avakhala- Marathi, derived from _Avakhaḷa_ , meaning "fiery". Iberian Lynx. Roy's daemon.
> 
> Marljivost- Croatian, meaning "diligence". Unsettled, though prefers forms as a tiger, doe or siamese cat. Ed's daemon.
> 
> Sifalri- Welsh, meaning "chivalrous". Brittany (dog). Jean Havoc's daemon.
> 
> Rita (利他)- Japanese, meaning "altruistic". Duck-Billed Platypus. Kain Fuery's daemon.
> 
> Iskren- Bosnian, meaning "candid". Wild Boar. Breda's ~~do you know how many times I wrote his name as 'bread' by accident~~ daemon.
> 
> Cioscian- Esperanto, meaning "omniscient". Northern Goshawk. Riza's daemon.
> 
> Comments and feedback are always appreciated!


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